


all the wild flowers o' the mountain

by sapphicroisa



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, WandaVision (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Magic, Domestic, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Dorks in Love, Established Relationship, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, Flowers, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Happy, Lesbian Character, Lesbians, Magic, Magic-Users, Morally Grey Characters, No Lesbians Die, Serotonin, Witches, angst? don't know her, dottie is arcanna, harkanna, harkanna nation, lesbian fluff, lesbians in love, westview
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:14:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29824788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphicroisa/pseuds/sapphicroisa
Summary: wandavision au wherein agatha 'agnes' harkness and dottie arcanna jones are married. both of them are magical and very in love. its just soft
Relationships: Agatha Harkness/Arcanna Jones, Agatha Harkness/Dottie Jones, Agnes (Wandavision)/Dottie Jones, Wanda Maximoff/Vision (mentioned)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	all the wild flowers o' the mountain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mia loml](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=mia+loml).



Agatha Harkness was soft. No one knew that.

Soft hands, one gently placed in her own, warm from hours of motionless contact and the heat of the dim purple glow that lingered in the air, brightening every few minutes as Agatha repositioned herself as she slept. The other fell on her bare lap, tumbling downwards from her flushed cheek the second her eyes began to close. Her own fingers drew slow, small circles on exposed skin, saturation repeatedly dusting the pale white with streaks of florescent yellow, each pattern fading as quickly as they had appeared.

Soft hair, thick strands of darkness, tickled her cheek ever so slightly each time either woman took a breath. The rain a few hours prior left it in a mess of tangled curls, curls that she had spent thirty minutes straightening out that morning. If she was anyone else, Agatha would have straightened them all over again before turning up on her doorstep. But she wasn't anyone else. She was Dottie. Agatha's Dottie.

Soft sighs echoed in her ear, sounding over and over until she could hear little else. Sighs of contentment from her sleeping love, of peace, maybe of happiness, although she wasn't sure she had ever seen Agatha really, truly happy in such a bleak town, especially with Wanda and Vision causing more issues for her wife than they had expected. Her snores were quiet and low, a gentle hum, soft against the distant buzzing of Westview beyond their room. The room was their haven, the one place in the entire world that vulnerability, in its most raw, delicate form, was safe, sheltered from the curiousity of those beyond the four floral covered walls. It was treasured by the two of them, protected and adored as if it were a sacred artifact, long preserved by a spiralling history of chaos and pain, finally nestled with love and care and security. 

Soft petals of purple and yellow, each drifting slowly to the wooden windowsill, were piled up and preserved in a jar by their shared bed. Yellow begonia and purple allium, coneflower and sunflower, bright hues clashing against the pale cream shades of their home. Lavender grew on the desk, fragrant and calming to both women.

Soft kisses were placed against Agatha's head every few minutes, enticing small smiles from the corners of her mouth. Soft whispers of "I love you" before Dottie closed her own eyes, resting her head atop Agatha's.

Agatha Harkness is soft. Only Dottie Jones knows this.


End file.
